


Fe

by TheMusicalCC



Series: Prompt drabbles [8]
Category: Book of Life (2014), El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Guest appearance by Juan Esqueleto a.k.a Jack Skellington, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Parenthood, it kinda hurts in the end you'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalCC/pseuds/TheMusicalCC
Summary: Sometimes all a parent can do is believe.





	Fe

**Author's Note:**

> Transferred from Tumblr. From an ask request.

As much as La Muerte hates to admit it, she’s worried for Sartana.

Well, more exactly, worried  _about_  her.  About all the things she sees in her that remind her of herself and her husband in their lowest.

Sartana possesses an authority to her which La Muerte would feel proud of if the child weren’t constantly using it to dominate children around her. She is agile, intelligent and powerful for her age, and these aren’t bad things, but she uses those gifts to remind humans how small they are when compared to a God and that isn’t good. Her wings are white as the reflection of the moonlight on polished silver. Long and strong, La Muerte is convinced that if she wanted she could fly across the human world in one night, the way Xibalba did when he was still Siba, the Angel Knight. She could use them to see the wonders of the human world, their monuments and cities, the testaments from the long-gone that they ever existed, their will to live forever in the things they do and the people they love…instead she uses them to remind others, smaller Gods, Remembered and Forgotten souls alike, of who she is. To teach them to fear her. Her temper is as terrible as that of her parents and in a child so small that is certainly worrisome.

She fears this is what mortals mean when they speak of the ‘Sins of the parent’, of all the imperfections a child inherits from their parents without any fault of their own. Of the fate that being an offspring of such two has written for them without any hope for escape.

But…she is still a child. Her heart is brand-new, her laughter comes easy, her days are lively and brimming with joy. She’s patient with Juan when they play and she’s gentle to Arka despite how her nightly rest suffers with having a new baby in the house. Even under the broadest of definitions, she doesn’t qualify as ‘Obedient’, but she isn’t a troublemaker either, and although she doesn’t like studying much, she still does it everyday without protest.

And she loves music. The singing of the Remembered souls celebrating, the blare of  _mariachi_  bands along the streets of her mother’s kingdom, even La Muerte’s singing, despite how the Goddess has a feeling it isn’t anything special. It’s within those things that La Muerte sees all that’s good in herself and Xibalba in this child of theirs and she can breathe again.  

And yet,  _ay_ …she worries.

* * *

“Tana?” she calls softly one night, when her daughter is running around in the  _cempazuchitl_  fields that surround her castle with Juan sitting on her shoulders, giggling “Come here for a moment, please” 

Both children ‘Aww’ softly and the realization that they think she’s going to scold them for something gives her a sinking feeling. Never in her life did she imagine she was going to become the strict parent. She offers them her most radiant smile in hopes that they relax and it works.

“What is it,  _mamá_?” Sartana calls back merrily.

“I have a gift for you”

Her hands have been behind her back all the while and when she finally uncovers what she’s been hiding, both her kids let out a gasp.

“A  _guh-tarrr_!” Juan squacks excitedly as La Muerte hands Sartana the instrument carefuly.

“Not just a guitar,  _mi niño_. This was carved from a branch of the tree of life and posesses very powerful, very ancient magic”

“A MAGIC  _guh-tarrr!”_ Juan corrects himself, even more excited, as his sister eyes the guitar, eyes sparkling.

“A long time ago, Quetzalcoatl himself played that guitar to celebrate the birth of the fifth sun and the birth of the children of the corn, the humans. It is said that he helped the bones he’d retrieved from the underworld come back to life with his music. Who knows? Maybe one day your music will be just as powerful”

Sartana steals her a glance that marvels at the amount of  _responsability_  she’s being entrusted with (Even at her age, she understands such a thing) and tries to adjust her arms around the instrument without much success; it’s still so big for her!

“A-are you…are you really giving this to me?” she says, as though expecting it to be a joke. La Muerte materializes a strap and helps adjust it around her small shoulder to support the guitar. The question is left unsaid but La Muerte still catches it

‘ _Do you trust me this much_?’

“It’s yours now,  _corazón_ ” she assures, running a thumb over the small, marked cheek when she’s done.

Sartana looks down at herself for a moment and then up at her mother with stars in her eyes.

“Thank you,  _mamá_!” she whispers in awe. Her excitement is too big to allow her to smile just yet, but La Muerte can see happiness in each of her limbs, in her trembling wings “I- I  _love_  it! Thank you!” she repeats, finally allowing her voice and body to go beyond breathless shock “ _Thankyouthankyou_ -!!” she all but leaps onto her arms hugging her close with all of her small body. Juan, as though afraid to be left out, hugs her skirts. La Muerte feels like she might topple backwards in all the affection, but she laughs, heart warm.

* * *

In the following days, weeks, months, years, the sight of Sartana strumming on that guitar has become a common one. Most the siblings that came after Arka have learned to fall asleep to the sound of her skilled fingers over the strings. The Remembered and even the Forgotten souls have acquired the custom to sit around her and listen, and through music, Sartana has connected with them in a way neither of her parents understands or can try to imitate. She’s even taken to going into the human world to hear other guitar players and improvise with them, to accepting all the things humans know that Gods ignore and admire them for it. She grows with the guitar in her arms, she grows into it, and La Muerte couldn’t be prouder.

The child still has a long way to go, with the faults and virtues she inherited from her parents and those of her own. The least her mother can do is believe in her, so La Muerte does. With all her heart.


End file.
